


No-Name Valley

by IreneADonovan



Category: Daredevil (All Media Types), X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Alternate Universe - Western, Bandits & Outlaws, Canon Disabled Character, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Charles Xavier in a Wheelchair, Erik Has Feelings, Erik Logic Is The Best Logic, Hurt Charles, M/M, Smitten Erik, miscarriage of justice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-01-12 11:11:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18445358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IreneADonovan/pseuds/IreneADonovan
Summary: A wounded man turns up on Erik Lehnsherr's land, signifying trouble of a type he'd rather avoid, but he knows his daughter will not forgive him if he turns the man away. He tends to the man, who proves to be Charles Xavier, falsely accused (he claims) of his sister's murder...NOW COMPLETE AND WITH ARTWORK...





	1. Outlaw

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TurtleTotem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurtleTotem/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Circle the Wagons](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16889091) by [TurtleTotem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurtleTotem/pseuds/TurtleTotem). 



> This is based on TurtleTotem's prompt, [Circle the Wagons](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16889091). It proved irresistible to me, a chance to write Cherik with a backdrop I know and love. I made a few small tweaks to the prompt, mostly so I could set it where I did.
> 
> I apologize if I screwed up the historical timelines. My net connection has been sketchy, so I worked from memory rather than research.
> 
> A note to anyone who's been to Tombstone, now a sleepy tourist town trading on the gunfight at the OK Corral. In the timeframe of the gunfight, and I see this story pre-dating that by a handful of years, it was a mining city of 200,000.
> 
> This story is complete. I will post chapters on Tuesdays and Fridays.
> 
> Title graphic [here](https://www.deviantart.com/ireneadonovan/art/No-Name-Valley-Title-Graphic-795391208). And two more detailed collages [here](https://www.deviantart.com/ireneadonovan/art/No-Name-Valley-795564273) and [here](https://www.deviantart.com/ireneadonovan/art/No-Name-Valley-2-795716461).

“There's a horse outside,” Nina said, then she frowned. “And a man.” She couldn't communicate with men's minds the way she could with animals’, but she could sense presences. “The horse says the man is hurt.”

Erik wanted to swear, but he held his tongue in his daughter's presence. A stranger at the door wasn't necesarily bad news, but a stranger arriving in the middle if a snowstorm, in a land where such storms were invariably brief and snow seldom clung on the ground beyond the following day, that was certainly trouble.

By the standards if Northerners, this snow was nothing, falling gentle if somewhat thick. By the standards of one now accustomed to weather in the southeastern corner of the Arizona Territory, it was damned near a blizzard.

“Stay here,” Erik told Nina, shrugging into his coat. He used his powers to summon his revolver from a high shelf, out of Nina's reach, then dropped it into a pocket.

The air outside was chill and damp, twilight closing in. He scanned the desert scrub, eerie in its coating of white, focused on the figure some yards away, hunched over a fine horse.

Erik approached cautiously, studying the man slumped against the horse's neck. His coat had once been fine but was now torn and dirty with a slowly-spreading stain low on his back.

The man lifted his head wearily, met Erik's gaze. His eyes were a deep blue, hazed with pain. “Help me. Please. I've been shot.”

Trouble indeed. Yet Nina would never forgive him if he turned the man away. “All right.” He approached closer.

“I'll need some help getting down, I'm afraid. My legs don't seem to want to work.”

Concerning. Erik eased the man from his horse. He looked slight, but he was surprisingly solid. Erik struggled a bit, but he made it inside with the man in his arms. He carried him to his own bed, glared at Nina as she peered curiously around the door jamb. She scurried away.

Erik lit a lamp, studied the man sitting slumped on the edge of his bed. Handsome, with wavy dark hair, and those azure eyes. Those eyes were over-bright with pain and exhaustion as the man forced a wan smile. “Thank you for helping me, my friend.”

“I'm not your friend,” Erik said coldly, bluntly.

The man looked stricken, but then he nodded slowly in understanding.

“We need to get you out of those bloody clothes so I can tend to your wound.”

“All right.”

The man couldn't help much, though he tried. Eventually Erik had him stripped and lying face-down. The man's legs truly wouldn't work, his hips flexing only weakly when he tried to move them 

The wound was small, near the base of his spine, oozing blood. Erik used a clean rag to clean his skin for a better look. He could feel the lead slug buried deep in the flesh, and he spoke quietly. “Do not be alarmed by what I do. I cat remove the bullet more easily than any surgeon, but I need you to trust me and to stay still.”

“Very well.” The man's voice was shaky, edged with pain.

Erik sank his awareness into the lead alloy, reshaping the misshapen ball, making it longer and thinner, easier to remove, then he drew it from the flesh, the way it had entered. The man grunted softly but didn't move.

“This will probably hurt,” Erik warned after retrieving his whiskey bottle. Waste of a splendid whiskey, but that couldn't be helped. He poured a generous slug into the wound, and the man yelped and swore.

“I'll thank you to keep your tongue around my daughter,” Erik said mildly as he blotted away bloid and excess whiskey.

“Of course.” The man's voice was rich, cultured, Eastern with a British overlay.

Erik pressed a thick pad of cloth against the wound, and the man groaned. “Do you think you can sit up?” Erik asked. “I need to tie this around you.”

“I'll need help,” the man said.

Together they got him to a sitting position, the man holding the pad against his back while Erik maneuvered his legs and torso. The man was pale and sweating by the time Erik had the bandage secured around his middle. “Rest,” Erik directed, and he retrieved his dressing gown and helped the man into it.

The man propped himself up with one hand while the other prodded at his thigh. He gazed up at Erik, azure eyes wide with pain and alarm. “I can't feel them,” he said, voice full of awed fear. “Not only can't I move them, I can't even feel them.”

Injuries like that were usually permanent, Erik knew, and from the man's expression, he knew it, too.

“Don't give up hope,” Erik said. Ironic, that. Erik had largely had hope beaten out of him. Only Nina could raise flickers of that emotion in his breast.

“Hope,” the man repeated dully, then he sighed. “Would youhelp me lie down?”

Erik helped the man settle on his stomach. “Sleep,” he said. “We can speak more later.”

He slipped out of the bedroom and went to tend to the man's horse.

**~xXx~**

When Charles woke, he thought for a blissful moment it had all been a dream. Raven's disappearance. Kurt's treachery. Being wanted for murder. Fleeing for his life. Being shot by a marshal. Fleeing again. Nearly dying in the saddle. Being taken in by a stranger who'd tended to his wound. The disquieting lack of sensation and movement in his lower body.

Charles raised his head, fighting toward consciousness. He was in a strange bed, a warm quilt drawn up to his shoulders. He went to roll over, but before he'd moved more that a fraction, pain blazed through his lower back.

He bit back a cry.

His hand slid to the small of his back, finding thick bandages. All right, so that part wasn't a dream. What of the rest?

His hand slid down to his arse. Much of it was numb, he was dismayed to discover. Only when his hand slid outward over his hip did he feel the touch. Similarly, he could flex his hips a bit, but nothing lower.

He wanted to weep. His life had just gone from bleak to damned near hopeless. Even if his detectives found Raven, cleared his name, what kind of life would he have now.

“Mister? Are you awake?”

Charles turned his head, gazed at a solemn-eyed girl of perhaps seven or eight. “I am,” he said.

“My name's Nina,” she said. My Papa rescued you.”

“Maybe not such a favor. “I'm Charles. Do you think I could speak to your father?”

“I'll get him.” She scampered off.

A minute later, his handsome but grim-faced rescuer appeared. “My daughter said you wanted to see me.”

“I just wanted to thank you.”

“No need,” the man said brusquely. “My daughter would never have forgiven me if I had let you die out there.”

“Then I shall have to thank her.”

“Please don't.” The man's vouce was sharp, though he spoke quietly. “Stay away from her. I don't know what kind of trouble you are, but clearly you are just that, and I will not risk her beyond what I already have by taking you in.”

“Very well.”

“I've warned her to stay away from you. Not that I expect her to listen entirely. So I expect you to help enforce my will in this matter.”

“As best I can. Clearly I have no way to make her leave.”

“Understood.” The man hesitated. “May I check your back?”

“Yes.”

His host drew the quilt back, pushed the dressing gown up to the middle of Charles’ back. Charles could feel a careful probing along the top edge of the bandaging. “We'll need to change this,” his host said. “After breakfast. How are your legs.” His hand disappeared from Charles’ awareness.

“No change, I'm afraid. I can feel bits of my hips and the very tops of my thighs, but nothing below that.”

“I'm sorry.”

“As am I,” Charles said, sighed, “but there's no help for it. Still, I fear you may be stuck with me for a while. I'm not going to be back on my feet any time soon.” If ever.

“We will manage,” the man said stiffly, “and if there is any way I can make you mobile again, I shall find it.”

The man sounded so determined Charles believed him, though in his heart he knew it was nearly certain he'd never walk again. “Thank you. Now I believe you said something about breakfast?”

“I did.”

“Then would you help me sit?”

It was the work of some minutes to position him against a pair of feather pillows, leaving him wearied, with the wound in his back shrieking. His host stretched his legs out carefully, studying them with pale eyes of indeterminate color. “You really can't feel them?” He squeezed Charles’ knee, the touch appearing gentle.

“Not a bit.” He poked at his thigh with his index finger. I was still surreal to feel the touch with his hand but not his leg.

“I'm sorry,” the man said again, then he went to fetch the breakfast he'd prepared.

Breakfast proved to be a somewhat runny porridge sweetened with just a bit of honey. His host had also brought a bottle of whiskey. “Drink some,” he commanded, “for the pain.”

Charles lifted the bottle to his lips, drank a healthy slug. It blazed down his throat, lit a pleasant fire in his belly. “That's excellent,” he said, surprised.

“I trade for it,” the man said stiffly.

Charles tried to hand the bottle back, but the man held up a hand. “You'll be needing it more than I.”

Charles set the bottle beside the bed. “Thank you again,” he said. “My name's Charles, by the way.”

 _I didn't want to know your name._ The man's thought was impossible not to overhear. “I'm Erik. Eat, then rest. I've got work to do.”

“Erik, wait.”

He paused.

“You said you were going to change the bandages first. And--” God, he hated to even mention this. “And there are matters of a rather more indelicate nature that I am going to require assistance with.”

Erik's fair skin flushed, but he nodded.

**~xXx~**

By the time Erik had Charles -- and he'd really rather not have had the man's name, though he supposed he couldn't have avoided it forever -- fed and toileted, the sun was well up in the sky. The temperature remained low enough, though, that snow still dusted the ground.

Dusted. Erik snorted to himself. There was nothing dusty about the icy crust that crunched under his boots. His boots sank into the reddish-tan mud beneath with a soft sucking sound.

This desert was a richer place then he'd expected, not barren at all, but abundant with plant and animal life. Nina loved it, loved chatting with the birds and small animals that flourished hereabouts, lived even more the larger animals who used the dry washes as thoroughfares. Erik had caught her conversing with a bobcat down from the mountains a few days ago, a skunk just days before that.

He wished Magda could see her, how she'd grown, how her powers were blossoming. But he'd lost her to bandits in the trail, somewhere in New Mexico. He'd managed to kill them with their own guns, but he hadn't been able to turn aside the wooden club that had crushed Magda's skull. Magda had shielded Nina with her own body, given her life to protect their daughter.

Nina had been barely three, not old enough to understand what had happened, and had it not been for her, Erik knew he would have descended into the madness of grief, never to emerge. Had nearly done so anyway. But, for Nina, he had held himself together, buried his sweet, fiery, funny Magda beside the trail, then pushed on.

A week later, he'd come to this tiny valley, little more more than a low spot between forbidding hills. A small stream (that actually ran pretty much year-round) descended from the hills to the north, and the very earth sang with iron. He'd known then his journey was over. The valley was near enough the mining city of Tombstone that he could earn a living through his metalwork, far enough he didn't have to hide his methods, that he could use his powers openly. Where Nina could use her own.

It had been Erik's own injudicious use of his powers that had forced them to flee Kansas, a mistake that had cost him dearly. But he had built a good life, a safe life, for himself and his daughter, not ideal, for he knew Nina was lonely, but necessary for now, until she had better control of her powers, until he needn't fear so badly for her.

But now an idiot Easterner threatened the oasis he'd built in the Southern Arizona desert.

Removing the bullet with his powers has been a calculated risk, but he'd suspected the man, Charles, was too weak and in too much pain to really notice. And it seemed he'd been correct; Charles had not asked him about it once he was more lucid.

He went to his workshop, studied the miscellaneous bits of metal in his possession that weren't slated for anything ordered by a client. He thought he could make a wheeled chair for Charles, something that, as his back healed, would allow him some mobility. Allow him to eventually be mobile enough to leave Erik's home once and for all.

He'd seen such chairs, made mostly of wood and wicker, with only the wheel assembly of metal. He could produce something similar, though woodwork would take him far longer than just using mostly metal. Yes, just so, with some cushioning on back and seat.

He'd make the wheels first, he decided, and began selecting materials for them.

Nina poked her head through the doorway, her cheeks flushed from cold and from running. “Papa, there's another horse coming. With a rider.”

“Thank you, sweetie. Go in the house and stay there. I'll take care of this.”

He exited his workshop, watched to make sure Nina was safely inside, then turned his attention to the approaching rider, close enough now that Erik could feel the metal of tack, horseshoes, and revolver.

As the rider closed the distance, Erik recognized him as a marshal from Tombstone, Alex Summers. The man swung off his horse, studied Erik with keen blue eyes. “Mister Lehnsherr.”

“Can I help you, Marshal?”

“I wanted to warn you about a dangerous man who was last seen riding this way. He pulled a folded paper from his coat pocket, extended it toward Erik. “Have you seen him?”

Erik took the paper, unfolded it. It was his houseguest. Wanted for murder, it said. Charles Francis Xavier. “Sorry,” he said, tried to hand the notice back.

“Keep it,” Summers said.v”If you should see him, I'd advise shooting first and asking questions later. The man killed his own baby sister.”

“Understood,” Erik said tightly.

The man remounted his horse, a handsome bay, and rode off.

Erik went inside, told Nina she could go play in the remaining snow, then stalked into his bedroom.

Xavier dozed in his bed, fair skin wan, bruise-dark circles beneath the arcs of his lashes. He looked so damned innocent, though he was clearly anything but.

Sudden anger seized Erik, and he grabbed a handful of Xavier's hair, yanked his head up.

Azure eyes flew open, hazed with pain and sleep.

Erik waved the notice in front of Xavier's nose. “Care to explain?”

“I was framed,” he said simply.

“The tale of every guilty man.”

“My stepfather wants my inheritance. So when my sister ran off with her tutor, he accused me of murdering her. I fled for my life. I've got a pair if detectives looking for her, but until and unless they find her, I will remain a wanted man.”

Possible, Erik supposed, though he ought to just turn the man in and be done with it. He didn't need trouble, and he had Nina to think of.

“You want to turn me in.” A statement, not a question.

Erik couldn't deny it.

“I wouldn't advise it.”

“And why not,” Erik demanded.

“Because I know your secret.”

Erik froze.

“You thought I was too far gone in pain to notice or understand.”

“Clearly I was wrong.”

 _Clearly._ Xavier's lips didn't move.

“How did you do that?”

_You have your tricks; I have mine._

“You're like us?” That did change things.


	2. Mending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to divide this into five chapters rather than four...

They settled into a routine over the next weeks that edged into months. Xavier's wound was healing clean, and he was able to begin using Erik's chair to move about somewhat. The wound still pained him, though, and he chafed at his new limitations.

He helped about the house where he could, though much remained beyond him. He proved to be a natural teacher, taking over Nina's lessons to their mutual delight. He was _not_ a natural cook, though he improved steadily under Erik's tutelage.

Evenings were most often spent before the fire, playing chess and talking over whiskey. Xavier was quite companionable, and Erik found he actually liked having him around. That didn't mean the man's fugitive status didn't trouble him, for it still did. It just meant he hoped Xavier's detectives would meet with success.

Erik had managed to leave word for them with the woman who maintained their offices, a young blind woman with an enigmatic smile. He worried about leaving details of Xavier's whereabouts, but Xavier, Charles, assured him that even Miss Adler was one of their kind and could be trusted. He said she could see possible futures, and indeed the knowing look on her face had made Erik shiver. They had not yet found Xavier's sister yet, she had said, but they would. Where and when remained in flux, but she had little doubt but that it would happen.

He carried the news back to Charles, who looked hopeful, blue eyes lighting in a way Erik had not seen. “Splendid,” he said. “It's good to know there will be an end to this.” Then he grimaced, gazing down at his inert legs. “At least to the being wanted for murder part. I fear I shall be paying for my stepfather's treachery for the rest of my life.”

There was no denying that now. Charles' legs remained as useless as they had been the night he'd arrived. Erik's chair allowed him to move about the house, but even had he not been a wanted man, the doorway marked the edge of his circumscribed world, the brushy desert terrain beyond nearly impassable to the wheeled chair.

But maybe there was another way. An idea had been percolating in the back of his mind, and perhaps now was the time to broach it. “I believe there is a way you could walk again.”

Hope bloomed in those vivid eyes, just for a moment, then withered. “We both know that is not possible.”

Erik pressed on. “I believe it is. Not to walk normally, I grant you, but I believe that, with practice, you could learn to manage well enough that you need not be limited to where the chair will go.”

“I'm listening.” Charles leaned forward.

“I think I can build frames for your legs, braces that will support them, hold them stiff enough to hold you upright yet be flexible enough to allow you to move about.”

The hope was back in Charles' eyes, and Erik found he liked the sight. “You believe this will work?”

Erik nodded. “I have seen similar frames, as have you, I am sure, but they are clumsy, bulky, heavy. I believe my powers will allow me to construct something that will be far more maneuverable.”

“You do possess a unique advantage.”

“I do.”

“Not to be too forward, but when could you begin?”

Erik considered. “Tonight, perhaps. I have orders I must complete during the day, but after dinner, if neither of us is too tired, we can begin.”

“Excellent, my friend.”

My friend. Those words warmed Erik's heart, whether he wanted it warmed or not.

Charles called Nina over for her lessons -- the man would truly make a splendid teacher -- and Erik went outside, toward his workshop.

Winter was edging toward spring. There was still a chill edge to the morning air, but the air felt different, a little drier, with the promise of coming heat. Some trees had been blooming for more than a month, though the mesquites whose deep-gold flowers marked the end of freezing temperatures had yet to bud out.

The wildflowers were beginning to appear as well, mostly the bright yellow of brittlebush and the vibrant orange of Mexican poppies. Some of the cacti would blossom soon, with the rest to follow before the searing heat of dry summer inevitably arrived. Creosote bush, what some called chaparral, would sprout thousands of tiny gold blooms, and the palo verde trees -- “green stick” in Spanish -- would drip with butter-yellow flowers.

This truly was a beautiful land -- harsh, unforgiving, but beautiful in its unique way. Regardless of the circumstances that brought him here, this was home now.

He took a last lingering look at the desert vista, then he turned and hurried to his workshop.

As he worked on the implements he could practically form in his sleep, his mind turned over what he would need. Soft leather for lining, over some sort of padding, to keep Charles' skin from chafing. True, Charles wouldn't feel it, but that actually made a soft lining all the more necessary. Charles would not feel any damage to his skin, and that could prove fatal.

Then a sturdier leather for structure, something he could use to attach the metal struts and cuffs.

He would need a light alloy, but as strong as it was light, sturdy enough to support Charles' weight without warping. He set aside bits of metals as he worked on other projects, visualizing the joints at knee and ankle, the best way to attach the uprights to Charles' shoes.

He had a solid plan by the time the light outside began to fade. He exited his workshop, looked to the west. The sun was just sinking behind the mountains in the distance, lighting the sky with streaks of pink and orange and gold.

Beautiful. He considered calling for Nina to come out to see, but she would be bored inside of a minute. Charles would love it, though. Charles, who could not venture beyond the door. Or could he?

Abruptly determined, Erik dashed toward the house.

Charles glanced up as he came in.

“You need to come outside with me,” Erik said. “The sunset is absolutely stunning.”

Charles' shoulders sank. “You know I can't.”

“You can. Both of us have been missing the obvious.” He used his powers to lift Charles' chair a few inches.

Charles barely breathed. “That's brilliant.”

“So will you come?”

Charles' eyes glowed. “Of course.”

Erik floated Charles out the door. Charles' hands clung tight to the wheels of his chair, but he whooped with delight as Erik skimmed him above the scrubby grasses and weeds. “Oh, this is marvellous.”

Erik brought him to rest facing the setting sun. The colors had deepened, the sky overhead dark as the deepest hues in Charles' eyes, the stars just beginning to wink into view, the sky to the west now ablaze with crimson and violet, fuchsia and tangerine. High, wispy clouds slashed streaks across the sky, backlit by the sun's fiery gold.

Erik stood beside Charles, and they watched in silence until the sun sank out of view. Charles found Erik's hand, squeezed it gently. “Thank you, my friend.”

“Any time.” And Erik found he meant it. Charles had proved to be damned good company, and though Erik had tried to prevent it, he had quickly enchanted Nina, turning his ruined gloves into finger puppets and spinning tales that kept her entertained for hours. He already had her reading and writing nearly as well as Erik himself, whose education had been spotty. He was mostly self-taught, and he did well enough to keep his books and manage his business, but he'd never known the joy in learning that Charles had awakened in Nina.

He squeezed Charles' hand back, trying not to think about how he was coming to care for this man. Care enough that he was actually entertaining thoughts he'd always been taught were wrong, thoughts Charles would undoubtedly be horrified by.

Erik had always known he could love men, though he had never allowed himself to act upon that knowledge. And he wouldn't begin with Charles. He wouldn't. He couldn't.

_Erik!_ Charles' voice, sharp in his head. _Take me inside. Hurry. Someone is coming, someone I can't yet read._

Erik's mouth set in a grim line as he rushed to get Charles back inside, though no sooner had they crossed the threshold than Charles had relaxed visibly. “It's all right, Erik. It's only Mister Howlett, one of the detectives I retained. The man had a certain resistance to telepathy.”

“You're sure?”

“Yes.”

Erik still sent Nina to her bedroom out of an abundance of caution.

Mister Howlett arrived a few minutes later, a long-limbed and broad-shouldered man who looked a bit wild. His hazel eyes assessed Erik as he stepped back to allow the man entry, his own gaze meeting Howlett's levelly.

Howlett's face fell as he got his first look at Charles sitting in the wheeled chair. “Chuck?”

“Forgive me for not rising to greet you,” Charles said, a little wry. He pushed himself forward, extended his hand. “It's good to see you, Logan.”

Howlett shook Charles' hand, the gesture stunned and mechanical. “What happened, Chuck? Marko?”

“In a manner of speaking. A marshal tried to take me in, then shot me when I fled to preserve my freedom. Mister Lehnsherr here has been nursing me back to health. The chair is his design.”

Erik stepped forward, offered his hand.

Howlett shook it with barely a glance at Erik. “Is it permanent?”

Charles sighed. “Almost certainly, I'm afraid. It has been nearly two months, and my legs remain as useless and insensate as they were the night I arrived here.”

“I'm sorry, Chuck.”

“As am I,” Charles said quietly, “but there's no help for it. I remain alive, and the marshals have not found me again.”

“I'm not sure anyone could find this place,” Howlett muttered.

“I presume you came with news,” Charles said, suddenly impatient now that the pleasantries had been dispensed with.

“I have,” Howlett acknowledged. We know your sister and Mister McCoy made it to El Paso; they booked passage on a stagecoach bound for Denver. But they didn't make it to Denver. Either they got off somewhere in between or they never got on in the first place.”

“You believe the latter,” Charles said.

“I do,” Howlett agreed. “Anna-Marie is riding the route to Denver, asking questions, just to be sure, but my money's on California. I'll be off in that direction now that I've apprised you of the status of the investigation.”

“Thank you, Logan. Please endeavor to keep me updated.”

Howlett smiled, an almost feral grin. “Irene will have the news before it happens. She knows to inform you.”

“Thank you, my friend.”

Erik felt a pang of jealousy at the phrase, but he suppressed it ruthlessly. He had no claim on Charles, certainly not the type of claim he desired.

Howlett bid them farewell and departed.

Charles plastered an over-bright smile on his elegant features. “Time for dinner?”

Dinner was a quiet affair, and simple, a little roasted meat and an abundance of vegetables. (The array of vegetables that would grow in a southern Arizona winter was stunning, and Erik had planted a goodly vegetable patch.) Charles was becoming a decent cook, though there were some kitchen tasks he still needed help with.

Once Nina had been put to bed, Erik poured two glasses of whiskey, handed one to Charles. “Do you still want to work on the braces? Or are you too tired?”

Charles sipped pensively. “I am indeed tired,” he acknowledged, “yet I so badly wish to begin.”

“Then let's get you prepared for bed. It will be easiest to work with you on the bed, in any case, and that way you can go directly to sleep.”

Charles took a long swallow of whiskey. “All right.”

In due time, Charles lay on his back on Erik's big bed, his legs, slender and pale, already beginning to waste, jutting out from under the hem of his dressing gown. He bit his lip, clearly as nervous as he was eager.

Erik, using his powers to wield the shears, cut strips of heavy cowhide, layered on strips of cotton rags for padding, then a layer of calfskin, then fitted the straps around Charles' legs -- upper thigh, above the knee, below the knee, mid-calf, and ankle -- and trimmed them to fit. “These will lace,” he explained. “Gives a more precise fit than buckles.”

He then turned his attention to the metal, creating a light-but-strong alloy with ease, then shaping it into bands just narrower than the leather and molding them to fit Charles' legs.

“That's an amazing gift you have,” Charles said.

“Yours is no less spectacular,” Erik answered as he slipped Charles' shoes onto his feet.

He began shaping the uprights as Charles continued to watch raptly. He created a metal plate under each sole for stability, drew the uprights along Charles' legs, attached them to both the bands and the shoes, then focused intently as he shaped the joints.

By the time he was satisfied, Charles had drifted off to sleep. Silently, Erik drew the covers over him, then got ready for bed himself.


	3. Falling

Charles awoke to sun streaming into Erik's bedroom. Erik was nowhere to be seen, but the aromas of breakfast told Charles where he was.

He pushed himself to a sitting position. His back still ached, though the pain was manageable and far less than it had been, and his arms were growing accustomed to compensating for his lifeless legs.

His legs. Memory flooded back -- Erik had been working on braces for his legs. He must have fallen asleep. He glanced around, saw a few stray bits of leather scattered about and a pair of metal crutches propped by the head if the bed, easily within his reach.

He pushed the quilt back with a shaking hand.

Erik had been quite busy. Had the man even slept? Not only had he finished the metalwork but the leatherwork as well, the layers stitched neatly together, the laces in place and securing the braces to his legs. 

The metalwork was exquisite, the bands smooth and polished, embellished with a delicately chased leaf-and-vine pattern. The man's control of his powers was nothing short of amazing.

Charles fingered the uppermost bands pensively. Though the work was beautiful and he was indeed grateful for Erik's efforts, he hated the necessity of the braces almost as much as he was eager to see if they would work.

He used his hands to move his legs off the bed, setting his feet firmly on the floor. He took one of the crutches, grasped it tightly, pushed himself to his feet with his other hand. And promptly fell back onto the bed.

Blast it. He tried again. And tumbled forward to the floor with a thud.

Erik was at his side in moments. “Are you all right?”

“Bruised dignity, no more.”

Erik lifted him back onto the bed, looking him over carefully.

“It seems this is harder than I had thought.” And he hadn't exactly thought it would be easy.

“It seems.”

“Would you help me? I'd like to see if I can manage to stand without falling over.”

Erik lifted him to his feet, held him upright. He heard a pair of soft clicks, and abruptly he felt more stable. “What was that?”

“Once you're fully upright, the knee joints will lock to help keep you that way.”

“Ingenious.”

“Do you want to see if you can stand with the crutches?”

“Yes.”

Erik used his powers to place the crutches in Charles’ hands, then once Charles had them set, Erik slowly let go, and Charles was standing. Only for a minute before he wobbled, then Erik caught him and eased him back onto the bed, but standing nonetheless.

“Do I need to make any adjustments?”

“I don't know yet. I feel so off-balance. I can't feel my legs, so I can't tell if they're under me.”

Erik's face fell. “Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.”

Charles shook his head. “No, it is a good idea. It will take time, but I know I can learn to balance this way, learn to use the muscles of my hips and thighs to compensate for the rest.”

“You have hope.”

“Yes, my friend, I do.” Charles became aware that Erik's body remained close, close enough to lean against. And god help him, Charles did precisely that.

Erik's abdominals were warm and firm, and after a moment, his hands came to rest on Charles’ shoulders. They remained like that, in silence, for long minutes, until Charles remembered those shreds of propriety his mother had managed to instill in him, and he pulled away. “Forgive me, my friend, for my unwanted advance. I should not presume.”

Erik's hand clung to his shoulders. “There is nothing to forgive. Your advance was far from unwanted.”

Charles’ breath caught in his throat as he looked up, tried to read Erik's pale eyes. “Pardon?”

“You heard me.” Erik's voice was quiet, husky, and his hands slid into Charles’ hair. “Your advances are not unwelcome.”

This had to be a dream. But in dreams, one could have what one desired. “Then kiss me.”

Erik cupped his jaw in those long-fingered hands, bent and pressed his lips to Charles’. It was glorious, his tongue lapping gently at Charles’ lips, then slipping inside to twine with Charles’ own.

Then the sound of Nina stirring reached them, and Erik jerked away. “I'm sorry. I can't, not when--” He nodded his head in his daughter's direction.

Charles ached with the loss, but he understood. “We can speak of this later.”

“Much later,” Erik agreed, smiling softly.

“Tonight.”

**~xXx~**

By the time evening came, Charles had managed to stand several more times, though never for long, and always with Erik close by. He'd even attempted to roll his hips and shuffle forward, though he'd not managed it, instead overbalancing and tumbling back onto the bed as he strove to save himself.

Erik brushed away Charles’ embarrassment as he lifted him back onto his feet. “As you said earlier, it will take time. You're learning a whole new way to walk.” He pressed a quick kiss to Charles’ lips and helped him into his chair before returning to his workshop.

Nina was quite fascinated by the braces so clearly outlined underneath his trousers. She managed to be polite most of the day, but Charles could feel the curiosity radiating from her. Finally, once her lessons were done, she broke down and asked. “What are those? Did my father make them?”

“He did,” Charles answered. “He made them in the hopes that they'll allow me to walk again.”

Nina frowned. “Again?” she asked. “You could walk?”

He posed his own question in return. “You know how I was hurt when your father found me?”

She nodded solemnly.

“Well, the injury was to my back, and sometimes such injuries affect the legs. Before that day, I could walk just like you.”

“And what my father made, they'll let you walk again? Like me?”

“Not quite like you, I'm afraid,” he answered gently, “but yes. The braces will support my legs, and in time, I'll learn how to use them to walk.”

“Do they hurt?”

“The braces? I can't even feel that they're there; I can't feel my legs at all.” He rubbed absently at the topmost strap on his left leg. The feeling extended a little lower on that leg, and he could just feel the pressure of the band's top edge.

“Not at all?”

“Not at all.”

She looked like she wanted to poke one to check. “I'm just glad they don't hurt.”

“As am I.” A small comfort, but she didn't need to know that. “Now come. Let's finish making dinner. Your father will be in soon.”

Erik came inside just as Charles was stirring the stew he'd prepared. He couldn't carry the pot once it was hot, but he could manage everything else.

Charles made his way to the table as Erik dished up the stew. As they ate, Nina chattered to her father about what Charles had taught her that day, including what she'd learned about his legs. “Will what you've made work, papa? Can you make Charles walk?”

“I hope so.” He gazed across the table at Charles, warm affection in his aqua-grey eyes.

After dinner, Erik tucked Nina into bed, then joined Charles for a game of chess and a glass of whiskey. Once they were sure Nina was asleep, they adjourned to the bedroom they shared. “I've been thinking of you all day,” he said, gently lifting Charles to his feet.

Charles looped his arms around Erik's neck, partly from necessity, partly just because he ached to hold him. “God, you feel good.”

Erik held him close, supporting him as he kissed his neck. “You too.” He nuzzled Charles’ ear, and his breath was warm on Charles’ skin as he asked, “ Are you sure about this?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever--? With another man?”

“Yes. A few times.”

“Then I'll let you take the lead.”

Charles hesitated. “You know my injury will complicate matters.” He wasn't even sure how well his cock would work.

“I know.” Erik held him still closer. “We will manage.”

“Then take me to bed.”

Erik lifted Charles, carried him to the bed, removed his clothing with tender, practiced care. “Should I take these off as well?” he asked, laying a hand on one brace.

“Will it be easier to maneuver my legs without them?”

“Not for me.” Erik used his powers to lift Charles’ legs a couple of inches.

“Then leave them.”

Erik shed his own clothes with brisk efficiency, then he climbed onto the bed beside Charles.

Charles gazed at him with frank amazement. “Good Lord; you're huge.”

Erik blushed. “Is that a problem?”

“Never. Now come kiss me.”

Erik scooted close, touched his lips to Charles’.

The kiss began sweet, almost chaste, but deepened into something far more passionate. Erik's tongue flicked against Charles’ lips, and Charles drew it in, drew him in. He tasted of whiskey and of something earthy-sweet, and his soft pink lips were at once pliant and demanding.

The kiss might have lasted minutes, might have lasted hours. Charles felt his body rousing, maybe not as readily as before, but gratifying nonetheless.

Erik gathered their bodies together, guiding Charles onto his side. His hands roved down Charles’ back, paused as he came to the small scar at the base of his spine. “I'm sorry this happened, I truly am.” He placed his hand flat over the area. “But I will never be sorry it brought you into my life.” He kissed Charles again, hot and savage.

When he could breathe again, Charles said, “I, too, cannot regret meeting you. I would not, could not, choose to be paralyzed, but if it had to happen, I am glad I have you to help me through it.” His hand slid between their bodies, brushed Erik's cock.

Erik's pale eyes rolled back in his head. “God, Charles.”

Charles took it in his hand, stroking languidly.

“More. Now.” Erik’s one hand wrapped around Charles’ cock, while the other extracted his own cock from Charles’ grasp. He brought their cocks together, and Charles gasped at the exquisite sensation.

Erik encircled them both in one long-fingered hand, stroked them as one, vigorous and teasing at turns, until they were both teetering on the brink.

He kissed Charles then, frantic, hungry, needy.

Charles tumbled, fell, feeling his balls tighten as his orgasm was wrung from him.

Erik followed him over the precipice moments later.

After clinging together for an eternal minute, adrift in post-coital bliss, Erik wiped them off with his discarded shirt, then pulled Charles back into a secure embrace.

They lay there in sated silence, drifted into a contented sleep.


	4. Judgment

Their routine might have developed a new element, but the easy manner between them didn't change. They still played chess in the evenings, but now they spent the hours after that exploring each other's bodies.

Charles was learning more and more of what his body remained capable of, and it was more than he would have thought, at least in the bedroom.

His attempts to walk, on the other hand, remained frustrating and exhausting. He could shuffle a bit, slow and awkward, but even after three months, his hip and thigh muscles remained weak and uncooperative. Still, he was not yet ready to give up.

They had worked out an alternative, though, maybe not quite truly walking, but it was upright ambulation, and Charles would take what he could find. He could balance on the braces, move the crutches forward, swing his legs forward as a unit. Not graceful, but neither was the other method, and this allowed him near-normal speed.

Winter had edged into spring, the weather warming and beginning to dry. First summer, dry summer, was still a month or more away, and Erik said there would likely be one more cold snap, a few more storms, but the desert was in full bloom, and Charles was now able to get out and see it.

And that proved his undoing.

He was outside, teaching Nina about flowers, when they both felt the approach of horses and humans. A wagon, Nina said. Charles cursed under his breath -- he'd grown far too complacent.

He sent Nina for her father, then began his journey back to the house, though there was little chance he'd make it before the wagon arrived. He could only hope it wasn't the marshals.

But of course it was. The blond man Erik had described, as well as another blond, a little taller and with curlier hair. “Freeze, Xavier,” the taller one called as both drew their weapons.

Charles froze.

“Hands up or we shoot.” The other marshal.

“I can't.” “Charles’ shoulders slumped. “I'll fall.”

“Explain. Quickly.”

“I can't walk properly anymore. If I let go of the crutches, I'll fall.”

“Then just stay still.” Curly-hair.

Erik came charging out of his workshop then.

“Freeze, Lehnsherr.” The second marshal this time.

“What the hell are you doing on my property, Summers?”

“Capturing a fugitive.”

All the metal nearby began vibrating, including, unfortunately, Charles’ braces and crutches, and he feared he would fall. And be shot. Again. “Erik, no!” he cried.

The metal stopped vibrating, but Erik still looked murderous. “Why the hell not?”

“Think of Nina,” Charles answered, more calmly than he felt. “She needs you here, not in jail with me.”

“Listen to him,” the curly-haired marshal said. “Stay out of this.”

Charles did a quick, unobtrusive scan of the marshals’ minds, looking for any useful information, desperation overriding scruples, found something unexpected. _These men both have abilities like ours_ , he projected to Erik, a little frantic. Had he had time he would have marvelled over their abilities. Summers could project rings of fiery energy; the other man, Drake, could create ice. _It would not be an easy fight, and might well end with both of us in chains. Or dead._

_No chains would hold me._

_And what of Nina? What of me? Swear to me you will not interfere. Swear it, Erik._

_All right. I swear._ Erik’s eyes blazed, but he lowered his head in reluctant acquiescence, his body slumping. “So what would you have me do?”

The marshals moved in on Charles.

“Take care of Nina. And contact my lawyer in Bisbee. His name is Matthew Murdock.”

“Done.” _I love you._ Words Erik had never said aloud.

_And I, you._

Drake held him firmly while Summers shackled his wrists. Then they picked him up and dumped him unceremoniously in the back of the wagon. Charles took but minimal comfort in that it hurt only half as much as it might have.

**~xXx~**

Erik glared after the wagon carrying Charles away. He wanted with every fiber of his being to saddle his horse and take off in hot pursuit, but that would leave him forsworn, and he would not, could not, break his oath to Charles.

No, he would take Nina and set off in a more considered direction. If they left now, they could be in Bisbee well before nightfall. They could stay at the hotel there, ride back tomorrow. Nina would consider it an adventure, and hopefully it would keep her from worrying much after Charles.

That was his job.

He turned and walked into the house.

Nina threw herself at his legs. “They took Charles,” she wailed. “How could you let them take Charles?”

“They're the law, sweetie.” Not that he really had that much respect for the law.

“But why?” She was sobbing openly now.

“They say he killed his sister.” He dropped to his knees and pulled her into his arms.

“Did he?”

“He swears he didn't, and I believe him.”

“Then they have to let him go.”

“I wish it were that simple. The only way to prove he didn't is to find his sister, and no one has managed to do so yet.”

“But they will. Won't they, papa? They have to.”

Erik wished he possessed the surety of a child.

Nina stiffened in his arms. “There's another rider.”

Erik hugged her quick, kissed the top of her head. “Stay put. I'll take care of it.” He watched her go, retrieved his gun, went outside.

It was a woman, he realized as she drew near, her skirts tucked up for riding. The sun gleamed on her honey-brown hair, and glasses with smoky lenses camouflaged eyes he knew to be milky-white and sightless. Irene Adler, who managed Howlett's detective agency.

She drew to a stop before him, dismounted neatly.

“You,” Erik growled. “You claim to know the future. Why did you not warn us the marshals would come for Charles?”

“I do not see ‘the’ future,” she corrected. “I see many futures, each of which could come to pass given the proper circumstances. And I saw much ill should you seek to prevent his taking.”

“Do tell,” Erik said dryly.

Adler offered an inscrutable smile. “You would have taken him and gone on the run. Most futures from that point end with one or both of you imprisoned or dead, your daughter on the streets and dying soon after.”

“That bleak?”

“I'm afraid so.” Adler's tone was gentle, her message unyielding. “Even when you escape detection, Mister Xavier's now-more-precarious health will not long endure a life on the run.”

“So what do I do?”

“Your plan is sound. I came only to deliver a message. Logan, Mister Howlett, sent a telegram three days ago, saying he has found something significant and is returning forthwith. He will arrive tomorrow. You and Mister Murdock must delay, keep Xavier alive against the rush to judgment. Succeed in this, and the odds of gaining what you wish improve dramatically.”

What he wishes was Charles to be back in his arms. “I understand, I think.”

“I shall delay you no further. Good luck, Mister Lehnsherr.” Adler mounted her horse and turned toward Tombstone, guided by her prescience.

Not long thereafter, Erik and Nina were on their way to Bisbee to find one Matthew Murdock, Esquire.

**~xXx~**

Charles was dragged into a cell and dumped onto a rough cot. He supposed it could have been worse -- they could have dropped him on the floor. Still, he was largely stuck, with neither chair nor crutches. It was a small mercy they had left the braces on his legs. A very small one. He might be able to hold to the wall well enough to reach the chamber pot in the corner. Maybe.

He maneuvered into a sitting position, then wished he hadn't. His stepfather was approaching the other side of the bars. “Charlie,” he greeted with false cheer.

“Kurt,” Charles said coldly.

“So they finally brought you to justice.”

“A miscarriage of justice. You know as well as I, Raven is still alive. She ran off with Henry because she could not bear to wed the Frost heir.” Nor, truth be told, did Christian Frost wish to marry Raven. Frost, as Charles had cause to know, preferred the company of men.

“I know no such thing. I know you killed her in a fit of murderous rage.”

Charles laughed, a little hysterically. “No one will ever believe that, especially now.” He gestured at his legs. “You'll find I can play the helpless cripple very well if I need to.”

Kurt sneered. “Yes, I'd heard you were but half a man now.”

“Everything that makes me a man still works,” Charles said coolly.

Kurt's gaze dropped to his groin.

Charles laughed, not bothering to hide a bitter edge. “I actually meant my brain, but since you wondered, yes, it still works perfectly well.”

“And how would you know? You've been out in the middle of nowhere with that heathen smith.” His eyes widened speculatively. “Not the girl -- even you would not defile one so young. So it must be her father. I had always suspected you might be depraved that way.”

Charles glared but said nothing.

“As to the other, they will believe it once you confess.”

If he could have, he would have launched himself across the cell, reached through the bars, seized the man's self-righteous neck. But he couldn't, so he stilled himself, only his clenched fists betraying his rage. “Never.”

“The smith. His daughter,” Kurt said silkily. “If you confess to Raven's murder and give up your right to your inheritance, they will continue to live peacefully.  
If you do not, well, they may not.”

Charles knew Erik was not so easy to kill. But could he risk Nina's safety? No, though he'd be damned if he gave Kurt the satisfaction of knowing he'd won. Let him stew a while. “I will not confess to a crime I haven't committed.”

Kurt's eyes blazed with contempt. “You will hang, regardless.”

Possibly. Even probably. But he would not do so without a fight.

**~xXx~**

They arrived in Bisbee in the late afternoon. Erik secured a room at the hotel and settled Nina therein. She'd brought the finger puppets Charles had made, he noted, dark wool decorated with bits of thread and ribbon.

He left her there, locked inside by his powers. No one but him would be able to gain entry short of breaking down the door. And he set off in search of Matthew Murdock.

The desk clerk had known of him, had directed Erik up the main street that wound its way up the mountain. Murdock's office was in the front of a small, neatly-maintained house.

Murdock's secretary, a Miss Page, showed him into the man's inner office. And there he received a surprise. Murdock was as blind as Irene Adler, though his eyes were not as clouded, a soft blue shining through. He stood to greet Erik, offering a firm handshake. His hair was redder even than Erik's own, and they were nearly of a height.

“Mister Murdock,” he acknowledged.

“Mister Lehnsherr. How may I help you?”

“Charles Xavier sent me.”

“Charles? How is he?”

“Arrested for murder.”

“Then it would seem I have my work cut out for me. Have a seat, and tell me about it.” Murdock sat back behind his desk and poured them a pair of whiskies.

**~xXx~**

Morning dawned clear and cool, soft light streaming through the high windows of the jail. A beautiful day. A beautiful day to die? Charles shivered.

They dragged him before the judge around noon. Charles was unsurprised -- Matt had arrived a few hours earlier, told him what to expect.

Erik had been with Matt, allowed in as Matt's guide, though Matt needed no help. His handsome face had a grim set, pain and fear reflected in his multi-hued eyes. He hadn't spoken.

Matt had delivered the news from Logan as well as Irene's instructions, said their best strategy was indeed to delay, as Irene advised. He'd smiled humorlessly and added, “Don't worry -- I'm good at talking.”

And he was indeed, arguing passionately on behalf of one unjustly accused. There was no body, no proof of a crime, no accusation save that of a man with a financial interest in the outcome.

And Kurt was there, gimlet eyes fixed on Charles, silently reminding him of the threats he'd made, the price of setting those threats aside.

Erik was there, too, stone-faced, Nina sitting quietly beside him, her eyes wide and frightened. Not a place she should be, but he was glad to see her, nonetheless.

But no matter how eloquently -- or at what length -- Matt spoke, the trial marched inexorably onward. Charles could only hope Logan would arrive in time, as Irene believed he would.

The sun was far lower in the sky when the judge lost patience and cut Matt off with a sharp scolding.

This was it, the moment of judgment. Would he be pronounced guilty and face prison or the noose? Or would he return to Erik's stead?

He drew in a shaky breath, but before he could exhale, the courtroom door burst open and a woman's voice shrieked his name.

Raven. She rushed forward, wearing her blonde guise. Charles let out his breath and whispered her name, barely daring to believe.

With remarkable aplomb, Matt said, “Your Honor, may I present Raven Xavier McCoy, putative victim.”

Kurt's smug face went bone-white as the crowd erupted in amazed murmurings.

“Your Honor, I move that the charges against my client be dismissed,” Matt added.

The gavel came down, and it was over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just the epilogue to go...


	5. Epilogue

It was at most an hour until sunset, and the sensible thing would have been to stay in Tombstone overnight, but all Charles wanted was to return to Erik's.

So that was what they did, all of them, Murdock and Howlett and Adler included. Raven had ridden with Charles in the back of Howlett's wagon, holding him tightly, murmuring apologies for having put him in such a position, expressing dismay over his damaged legs.

Once their party arrived back at his home, Erik witnessed a blossoming in Charles that both amazed and delighted him. Gone were the shadows in his azure eyes, and he radiated contentment. He sat straight in his chair, laughed and joked over food and whiskey, looking genuinely at ease now that he was no longer a wanted man.

Erik suspected he was the only one who noticed those few moments when the pain returned, when he glanced angrily downward at his paralyzed legs. Erik could barely imagine what it must be like to know that some damage could not ever be undone, no matter how unjustly it had been dealt. Charles handled it with relative grace, but he had limits.

They talked until quite late. Logan told stories of cases he'd worked. Matt did the same, then sang some bawdy Irish songs. Raven and Hank told the story of their elopement.

Raven was a surprise, bold and brash as many men, no shrinking violet she. And her gift was spectacular -- she was a shapeshifter, capable of mimicking anyone.

Her husband, Hank McCoy, was also a shapeshifter of sorts, though he had but one other form, a seven-foot blue-furred beast, vaguely leonine. This form seemed at odds with his mild, shy manner, though Erik suspected more lay below the surface -- he'd seen the fierce protectiveness in his gaze every time it lit on Raven.

"I hope to secure a teaching position," the soft-spoken young man was saying, "but I fear Mister Marko may attempt to prevent this."

"I have an idea," Charles said slowly, "one I have had for many years. Perhaps it is time to make it reality."

Everyone focused in on Charles, sitting calm and determined in his wheeled chair. "I want to create a school for our kind, a safe place where our children may learn and learn to unlock their abilities."

"That's brilliant, Charles," Raven said, "but where will you put it?"

Erik spoke then, knowing what the answer had to be. "Here. Put it here. I have plenty of land, this whole valley, in fact. We would be able to create not only a school but an entire community."

Everyone stared at him instead.

Charles beamed. "Are you sure this is what you want?" _I know you value your solitude._

"Positive." _I'm finding room in my heart again._ "This place is isolated enough that our people will be safe, yet close enough to Tombstone to allow for trade. We can make this work."

"Does this valley have a name?"

"No."

"No-Name Valley," Charles pronounced, grinning broadly.

"Perfection."

**~xXx~**

They continued talking past dawn, excitedly discussing possibilities for both school and town. Finally, though, weariness won out, and their guests bedded down near the hearth.

Erik helped Charles prepare for bed, savoring the feel of the man in his arms, the man he had almost lost. He lifted him onto the bed, kissed him tenderly, then passionately.

"They'll hear us," Charles protested.

"I can be very quiet," Erik said. "Can you?"

"Challenge accepted."

They made gentle love, at first just unhurried kisses and caresses, savoring the simple joy of being together. Erik explored every inch of Charles' flesh that remained sensate with lips and tongue and fingers, until Charles writhed and gasped beneath him, then ended by taking Charles' erect member into his mouth, licking and sucking and teasing until Charles came with a hushed cry.

Charles slumped back onto the mattress, eyes glassy, looking utterly spent.

After a minute, he reached for Erik, but Erik caught his fingers, kissed them. "This time was about letting me love you. I can wait. Just let me hold you."

Charles gazed significantly at Erik's undeniably hard cock, but finally he nodded and let Erik gather him close. "Have I told you how much I love you?"

"I love you, too," Erik said quietly.

A faint sadness had crept into Charles' eyes. "Though I sometimes wonder why. Wonder how you can when I'm barely half a man now."

"Do you really see yourself that way?"

"More often than I would like," Charles admitted. "My stepfather called me thus, and I denied it then, but a part of me finds it difficult not to believe it on some level. It's just so damnably hard, knowing that is what the world sees, that I'm useless, helpless."

"Even though you are not?"

"Am I truly not? Erik, my legs don't work."

"Do you need your legs to teach?"

Charles sighed. "No. I just-- sometimes I just feel trapped by a pair of legs that will not obey my command."

Erik kissed him, just a soft brush of lips on lips, before he replied. "Is this why you fight so hard to walk again?"

Charles remained silent for a long moment before answering. "Yes," he said, "at least in part. And," he hesitated again, "and I fear you will grow weary of tending to my needs."

Erik hugged him closer, spoke tenderly but firmly. "Listen to me, Charles. I love you, and that will not change, no matter whether you are walking or not."

Charles buried his face against Erik's shoulder, let out a shuddering breath. "Thank you. I'll hold you to that."

"I mean it. Even if you were to never use the braces again, use only the chair, it would make no difference in my loving you. It is your decision, and I will support you regardless."

 _I love you._ "Thank you."

They lay contentedly together, drifted into an exhausted slumber, rousing only at Nina's insistent urging.

It was a new day, the dawning of a new age, and they had a world to build. Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, folks. Kurt will get his in the sequel...

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback greatly appreciated...


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